Bad Moon Rising
by Chloe Winchester
Summary: Sometimes being best friends with a werewolf attracts the wrong kind of attention. Sometimes people hurt you to try to get to them and their surly superior. But sometimes, that surly superior you've been crushing on saves your life. Sterek. TorturedHurt!Stiles. WorriedCompassionate!Derek. RATED FOR STRONG VIOLENCE AND LANGUAGE
1. Chapter 1

**Bad Moon Rising**

He screamed again, voice coarse. He writhed in his shackles, arching off the wall and trying to get away from the hot poker digging into his skin.

"Come on, now, little one," the stranger cooed. "Just tell us where your little wolves are and we'll let you go."

"No, mno. I won't," Stiles coughed, shaking and sweating. "I-I don't care what you- _AHH!" _He cried out again, tears slipping down his cheeks, the acrid smell of his burning flesh reaching his nostrils.

"Aw, aren't you cute?" The woman giggled. "So fun to make such a young, pink little body squirm."

He hung limp in the chains, crying and wishing to god he could stop it. His whole body throbbed, mind muddled and clouded. "Please…"

"Don't beg me, you pathetic waste," she snarled, chucking a nearby knife at him, cackling when it stuck in his arm. Stiles cried, praying Scott and Derek would stay as far away as possible from this crazy bitch. "Just tell me what I want to know and I'll stop torturing you."

"N-no. Th-they're my friends, I won't…" He gulped, shaking his head, tears hot and stinging almost as much as the searing metal constantly pressed to his skin. He shrieked again, muscles strained and wound too tight. "_STO-OP! PLEASE! _Please, stop, s-stop it, please."

"Tell me where they are…"

"I DON'T KNOW!" He sobbed, shaking his head wildly, contorted in the bindings. "I don't know where they are, I wouldn't tell you if I did, but I don't! I swear to god. I swear! Pl-please…"

_Help me, god, somebody help me, please…_

He couldn't take much more of this.

She stepped forward, ripping the knife from his arm, grinning when he screamed again, pressing on the wound with her thumb, her other arm holding his chest still and putting strain on his broken collarbone. Stiles cried harder, shaking his head.

"Such a pretty baby, aren't you?" She grinned, holding his face, staring at the blood on his lips. "And you are a baby, huh? Just a little boy with a daddy that has to deal with his spaz of a son and a dead mommy. Just one friend in the whole wide world that would leave you for dead for his girlfriend. You're nothing special to him, Stiles, you're not special to anyone."

He looked away from her, in too much pain to rattle off some clever comment that he already knew that, and he'd known for quite some time.

"Really? Nothing? A snide comment? A joke that leads to another plea to stop? Come on, Stiles you were so fun earlier." She pouted. "Honestly, I'm disappointed, little one. So…here's what I'm gonna do instead. I'm gonna break you so badly you can't piece yourself back together again and dump you in the woods. And maybe, just maybe, if you survive the cold and nature and all the blood I'm gonna drain out of this pasty body they might find you. And when they do you tell them that next time I'll strip the flesh off your bones and crucify you on Derek Hale's porch, eh?"

He whimpered again, staring at her, unable to look away from her eyes. "I-I don't know where they are, please….please, don't hurt me anymore. I can't…I…"

"Too bad," she smirked. "I'll quit when I'm through with you. Whether you live to that point is your choice."

The way he hurt at the moment, he wasn't so sure if that wasn't preferable. "Please, please, don't do this," he stammered weakly as she walked away back to the table holding everything she'd been torturing him with. "M-my dad's the sheriff, he-he'll…" She plucked yet another instrument off it, grinning at him. His head fell back, shaking so hard his teeth chattered. "Gohod, please!"

"Shh…" She hissed, slapping a piece of duct tape over his lips to silence him. "Much as I hate to hide that pretty mouth I'm kind of tired of listening to your pathetic attempts to talk me out of this. You fucking waste of space. Now let's take our punishment like a big boy, okay?"

* * *

He fell into the damp leaves, coughing softly, gasping through his agony wracking his slight frame.

"Make sure you make my message clear, baby," the woman hissed, licking a stripe up his face to make him cringe again. She gave his ribs a final kick before walking away, getting back into her car and driving him off, leaving him bloody, naked and shivering in the dark.

He tried twisting his hands in the thick tape around his wrists to get loose, gaining nothing but more frustrated and humiliated tears.

He sobbed into the dirt, too weak to scream or move, wondering what would kill him first, blood loss or the cold. He was going to die out here, in so much pain he couldn't breathe.

_Help me, help me, please…PLEASE!_

"Stiles?"

"Mm?" He fought to lift his head, heart pounding, hoping and praying he wasn't hearing things, eyes searching the horizon for something.

"Stiles! Fuck, oh my god!"

_Derek._

Claws snapped the tape on his raw, bloody wrists and carefully took it away before pulling him into his arms. "Shh, shh, it's alright, it's okay now. I've got you. Hush…" He soothed, stroking his hair, carefully taking the tape off his lips.

"D-Derek," he trembled, still crying, still so scared he couldn't see straight. "I-I didn't-"

"Shh, don't talk. It's alright." His jaw was set, words tight, but his eyes were so scared, holding his fragile body as close as he could, stripping off his jacket and tucking it around him. "It's okay, Stiles, shhh, shh, it's okay. I'm here." He held him to his chest, trying not to panic, trying not to let the flood of emotions, memories and echoes of losing anyone and everyone he ever cared about clog his throat or allow the tears in his eyes to actually come through.

He carefully pressed his hand to his neck, watching his veins turn black, ebbing just a fraction of Stiles' pain from him, hissing as it hit him. Stiles sighed at the slight relief before realizing what Derek was doing. "S-stop it," he slurred, leaning away from him.

"Stiles-"

"'M okay. B-but don't do…don't do that," he pleaded, grateful but worried Derek might have the power to take it all, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Okay, alright, I need to get you to the hospital. They're not gonna find you out here in the middle of the goddamn woods. So just…just hang on." He slowly gathered him in his arms, wincing when he whimpered and groaned. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

Stiles could barely hear or see, listening to the low rumble of Derek's voice in his chest beside his ear, clinging to him with whatever strength he had left. There wasn't any part of him that didn't hurt. He wanted to scream but he wasn't sure his throat or his lungs could take it. All he had left was weak sobbing and looking up at Derek wishing he was brave enough to ask him to kiss him.

"We'll be there soon, I promise," Derek assured, looking at his body and wincing. "God, what did they do to you?"

"E-everything," he breathed. Derek pressed a kiss to his forehead, tasting blood and sweat, smelling his fear and his pain and _hating_ himself for it. "Did you h-hear me?"

"When?" He whispered.

"Wh-when I was in there, when she was huhn-hurting me, could you hear me?" He whimpered. He looked at the near child-like desperation in Stiles' eyes, pleading. But god help him, he still couldn't lie to him.

"Not to where I could find you," he said, guilt weighing on each word. "I tried, baby." Stiles stared at him, heart swelling just a little.

"You…you called me-" He broke off, coughing, blood sprinkling his lips. Derek swallowed, kissing his temple.

"I'll call you whatever you want, I'll do whatever you want, Stiles, just stay with me. I can't lose someone else, please… please don't make me lose you too, okay?" He begged. "Stay here, stay with me."

Stiles continued to stare at him, even in his pain he could see how upset Derek was, how scared even if he'd never say it. "Oh-okay," he nodded, swallowing hard. "On-on-one condition, though."

"Anything," Derek said immediately, feigning his usual stoic behavior.

Stiles took a breath, looking up at him. "K-kiss me? L-like a real one, n-not…" He whimpered again, the pain too much, coming in a wave of agony.

Derek caught his cheek, gently running his thumb over his lower lip, pausing in his stride, carefully leaning down and pressing his lips to his. Stiles' breath hitched, not caring that Derek might be doing all this just because he was hurt. Derek kissed him over and over, holding his face.

"Stay with me," he prayed. Stiles nodded, curling against him again, so cold, so weak. He continued walking, heart fluttering when Stiles got quiet again. He listened to his pulse, how soft it was getting, already erratic. "Hey, how the fuck do you play lacrosse? I don't understand it, tell me about it."

Stiles talked, explaining positions and rules, what the different sized sticks were for, what penalties were, anything to keep himself talking and get that look off Derek's face.

"You couldn't just play soccer or something?" Derek teased. Stiles managed a smile, head falling limp in the crook of his arm, strength gone. "Hey, hey, stay awake, come on, we're gonna get there soon. I promise." He could turn and run with Stiles on his back and get there so much faster than his half-jog through the trees but he wasn't strong enough to hold onto him, he was barely strong enough to keep his eyes open.

By the time he reached the hospital Stiles had stopped shivering, barley peeking through his eyelids. "D-Dere…"

"Shh…" He soothed, worn and still trying so hard to keep his tears back. He staggered through the doors, his heart making his body weary. "H-help!" He managed, blood-slicked fingers making it difficult to hold onto him. "Somebody, please!" Nurses jumped with surprise when they noticed he was there, rushing to Stiles' aid immediately.

Derek reluctantly let him go, lying him on the gurney they wheeled in front of him, gently rubbing his forehead before he was whipped around the corner.

"Don't move," one of the nurses he recognized as Scott's mom warned before stepping away.

He stood still, absolutely still, looking lost and weary while the hospital bustled around him, blood coating his arms and his hands, heart thrumming raggedly. He shut his eyes, listening for Stiles' voice, for a heartbeat he _knew_ only belonged to him just to be sure he was alright, that he'd pull through.

God, please, let him get through this.

Before he could locate it he was slammed against a nearby wall, a strong arm across his chest pinning him to it and a gun in his face.

Stiles' father.

* * *

**A/N: **Please review. Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Bad Moon Rising**

Derek stared at the muzzle of the gun pointed at his face without expression, eyes flicking from it to the sheriff, wondering if he was about to find out if werewolves could survive a bullet to the head.

"What happened to my son? What did you do?!" He bellowed, furious, damaged.

"I found him in the woods-" He croaked, cut off by being shoved again.

"_Why didn't you call an ambulance?" _He hissed.

"No signal on my phone. We were in the middle of nowhere, they wouldn't have found us."

"Then what the fuck were you doin' out there?" He snarled, trying to find someone to blame, someone to filter all this rage and pain he'd had built up since Stiles had gone missing. The weight on his throat was starting to hurt, making his voice that much more strained.

"It's my property. I was walking-"

"Then tell me who put their hands on my boy. WHO HURT MY SON?!" He screamed, every pair of eyes in the vicinity on them, and they had been for some time.

"I don't know," he answered calmly, Stiles' heart beat in his ears. "I swear, I don't. I just wanted to get him safe. Please." Silence lapsed; Ms. McCall took a few steps closer to them, hesitant.

"What aren't you telling me?" He demanded. The younger man shook his head.

"I found him. He told me someone had hurt him and asked me to help him. Then I brought him here. That's all I know," he insisted. "I didn't hurt him." The sheriff grunted, frustrated, and turned Derek around, forcing his arms behind his back. He cuffed one of his wrists, stomach doing somersaults at the sight of his child's blood on his hands.

"I can't prove that you didn't. Not 'til he wakes up. So you're staying where I can see you," he said firmly, handling him roughly as he worked him off the wall and shoved him toward a chair, linking the cuffs through the arm and closing it around Derek's wrist, keeping him locked there. The alpha bowed his head, still listening to the soft flutter of Stiles heart keeping him calm.

"I didn't hurt Stiles. I never would," he said softly, not meeting his gaze. "If I was the one who hurt him why would I bring him here?" He reasoned.

"We'll see," was all he said before stepping away with his own thoughts.

Derek closed his eyes.

Stiles was coughing now, fighting sedation because he wanted to tell his father it was alright. The wolf heard the doctor say something about surgery and a shudder went down his spine.

He sighed, wishing he could tell Stiles to rest, that it would be okay, his father was fine and all he needed to do was rest.

He didn't want to leave in the first place. Getting cuffed to a chair in the hospital lobby was honestly something he didn't mind in the slightest. Being close enough to make sure Stiles was alright, constantly listening in just to be sure he wasn't too scared, or cold or asking for him and that made the handcuffs worth it.

He only wished he was allowed to wash the blood off his hands first. He sat perfectly still, head bowed while Scott's mother tried to calm down the sheriff and get him to think straight. He wouldn't listen. He wouldn't listen to anything until he was told he could see his son, Derek knew that.

What he really wanted to know was where the fuck Scott was. He'd watched Ms. McCall try to get ahold of him as well as trying to get Allison's number and figure things out.

Derek ignored the chaos, staring at the linoleum, listening to Stiles mutter in his sleep that he'd finally succumbed to. He managed to smile to himself.

A familiar scent caused his eyes to snap open, muscles tensing. "Scott."

"Where is he?" The teen exclaimed, rushing up to his mother and taking his attention from the sheriff. She held his shoulders, calmly explaining what state Stiles was in. Derek tensed when she looked his way, too focused on Stiles to hear her. Scott whipped around to face him, meeting his eyes and nodding as she spoke. He kept his eyes trained on him as he came toward him, already defensive because god knew Scott would accuse him before listening to him.

"Did you do it?" He barked. Derek glared. "Did you hurt Stiles?!"

"You know I didn't," he said darkly, irises flashing red. "I found him. Whoever did this to him left him in the woods for one of us to find. I brought him in here so why the _fuck_ does everyone think I was the one that did this?" He tugged at the cuffs, jerking out at him, stopping when the chair groaned and the sheriff turned.

"Okay, okay," Scott sighed, trying to shush him and keep him calm. He sat down across from him, head in his hands.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Derek snarled, forcing himself to stay relatively calm.

"I looked for Stiles everywhere, and when I couldn't find him I went to Allison's and asked if there were any hunters in town that would do something like this," he explained. Derek continued to stare him down.

"And how long did it take to ask her that question?" Scott looked at the floor.

"Derek-"

"Your best friend is missing and you spend more time crying on your girlfriend's shoulder than you do looking for him," he barked, irate.

"Don't act like I don't care about him! I just needed-"

"You _needed_ to look for him. What if I wouldn't have been there? He'd still be out there right now because you don't know how to answer your phone and you were so hung up on staying-"

"Don't point fingers at me because-"

"Shut up!" He bellowed, eyes glinting again. "Get away from me." Scott stalked away with a scowl, stressed.

Derek closed his eyes, waiting for Stiles to wake, praying that he could be allowed to see him when he did. He looked up, catching his father's eye, seeing the rage boiling in his face. He wasn't so sure.

* * *

Stiles had been run over by a truck, tossed in a meat grinder and squished by a steamroller on road made out of shards of glass. That was the only explanation as to why he felt the way he did. His eyes opened slowly, joints stiff and aching through his entire body. His skin was warm, the air crisp and dry, linens starched and keeping him warm. His eyes were dewy and bloodshot and _god_ they itched. He coughed softly, his throat on fire, I.V. irritating.

"Oh man…" He groaned, sniffing and trying to open his eyes properly.

"Hey, buddy," he swung his head toward the source of the noise, painkillers making the room spin before his eyes rested and focused on a familiar face.

"Dad," he forced a smile, the pain in his father's dace making his already wrung-out heart ache. His lip trembled, tears in his eyes because goddammit he'd been screaming for his presence and the safety of his embrace for days.

"Hey, hey," he wrapped his arms around his son, holding him close. "Shh…It's okay."

Stiles broke, clinging to his dad and sobbing into his shoulder. "I was so scared, Dad! I-I was so scared!"

"Shh, it's okay now. I'm here, I've got you. It's alright," he breathed, gently rubbing his back. "Stiles, who did this to you?"

"I don't know," he gulped, trembling. "Sh-she never said her name."

"It wasn't Derek Hale?" He asked, just to be sure. Stiles frowned, shaking his head.

"N-no, Derek would never do anything to h-hurt me. He cares about me. He saved me," he sniffed. His father nodded, guilty.

"Guess I should uncuff him from the chair in the lobby, huh?" He winced.

"Dad, really?" Stiles groaned, still tearful. "Can we stop putting my boyfriend in protective custody?"

"Boyfriend?" He repeated. Stiles sighed, wishing he had the capacity to let his head hang. _Damn it_.

"Told you I could be gay," he offered, looking at him.

"You're not gay," he teased, smiling gently. "Never said you weren't bi."

There was a beat of silence before Stiles caught his breath enough to say, "I was gonna tell you about us. I was but then-"

"Hey, look at me," he said, lifting his chin. "I don't care that you're dating a guy. I'm pretty sure right now you could tell me you were dating an elephant and I wouldn't care. That is literally the last thing I'd give a shit about. What I _do_ care about is you dating a former murder suspect who's eight years older than you."

"We don't do anything like that, and those charges were dropped!" He said pointedly. "But seriously, nothing south of the equator."

"Better stay that way," he warned. Stiles nodded, teary-eyed again.

"Can…can I see him?" He pleaded, eyes too young to be this pained. "Please?" As if saying no was an option.

* * *

Derek rubbed his wrists when the cuffs were removed, asking to get the blood off of him and a different shirt before he went to see him. Scott's extra was too tight and almost too short but it was better than nothing.

Seeing Stiles again send his stomach reeling. His collarbone was wrapped, all bandaged and stitched with both eyes blackened, cheek bruised, body weak and hidden away under his thin gown. Despite all the gauze and monitors he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He went to him immediately, seeing the need in those big beautiful eyes and sat beside him, one hand instantly going to his cheek while the other held his hand.

"Hi," he said, offering a rare smile that Stiles happily returned.

"Hey," his lips trembled, tears working their way down his cheeks. He forced himself to sit up, not caring what he could be doing to himself or how much it hurt to do it, and leaned his face into his chest. Derek held him, gently wrapping his arms around him, wincing when he felt him trembling.

"Shh, shh…" He soothed, expecting this breakdown and allowing it. "I've got you, it's okay now. Shh…"

"Derek," he choked. "Wh-why did she-? What does she want? Wh-why-?" He broke off with a small hiccup. Derek caught his chin, lifting his lips into a gentle kiss.

"She won't touch you again. I'm gonna find her and make sure she can't hurt anyone else, I swear to god I will."

"N-no, that's what she wants. She wants you to go find her. Look what she did to me! What do you th-think that means for you?" He looked at him, shaking his head. "Don't go, Derek. Please, d-don't leave me," he begged. Derek kissed him again.

"I'm not going anywhere. But I can't let her get away with this," he said firmly.

"Let my dad try first," he breathed, still pleading with him. He buried his face in his chest again, sniffling. Derek continued to hold him, knowing they were alone and not honestly caring right now. Stiles needed him.

"Okay," he afreed. He didn't want him upset and he really wanted him to stop crying. He wanted to see him smile and make jokes about the bed pan or something and whine that the food sucked and he really wished the T.V. had better stations. "Does it hurt?" He asked softly. Stiles shook his head, knowing why he asked.

"No," he lied. Derek gently held his arm, taking some of the edge off again, barely wincing as it traveled up his arm. "Derek…"

"Just a little," he promised, kissing him. Stiles sighed against his mouth, able to relax.

"Thank you," he muttered. He carefully held his face, just looking at him.

"I thought I lost you," he said, eyes vulnerable, face hard.

"Pshh, like you could get rid of me that easy," he teased, still shaky.

"You're only human," he said pointedly, so much sadness resting on shoulders already carrying to much. Stiles chewed his split lip, looking up at him.

"Der," he said softly, shaking fingers touching his stubble. "I'm not gonna leave you alone again. I promise." Derek's arms tightened around him, resting his cheek on the top of his head. "Don't be scared," Stiles whispered. The wolf closed his eyes, pained.

"I'm always scared for you."

"Don't be. On a day-to-day basis the biggest threat I encounter is Erica and lacrosse practice," he tried to tease, too tired to focus entirely.

"You need to sleep," he said, gently setting him back on the pillows. Stiles grabbed for his hand, reaching out desperately.

"Can you lay beside me or something?" He asked, suddenly cold without Derek's arms there. "I don't w-want to be by myself." Derek slid beside him, gently guiding his head to his chest, tucking his arm under his neck to hold him properly. He kissed the top of his head, thumb stroking the back of his hand, staring at the clamp on his finger keeping his pulse. Stiles ached from head to toe, but at least here he felt safe here. He frowned, picking at his sleeve. "Is this Scott's?"

"My other shirt had blood all over it," he explained, wincing a little. Stiles smiled up at him, all doe-eyed and gorgeous even now. Derek smiled back.  
"And you thought my shirts didn't fit," he giggled. Derek kissed his forehead.

"It works," he shrugged. "Now get some sleep before the drugs make you."

Stiles was snoring quietly in minutes, wrapped up in Derek's embrace, not caring that Scott's mom would probably come in at some point and shoo Derek out, or Scott might raise a fuss later for not being able to see Stiles before he fell asleep, and his dad might freak out because a hot older guy in a tight shirt was in a bed with him. Right now he was content. And he knew there'd be someone there if –when— the nightmares came.


End file.
